I am fascinated by alternative processes when it comes to photography. I love to experiment with stuff (when I can find the time for it). I am especially interested in printing techniques. I’ve been wanting to try cyanotype for quite some time. I tend to procrastinate trying new things for an inordinate amount of time but, thanks to my husband, I jumped into cyanotype faster than I normally would have. it was to my benefit that he was interested in cyanotype as well. He ordered the chemistry and the day it arrived made some prints for himself. Since then it has been something that we do together when there is (the rare) sunny day. Here is my latest effort. I still have a lot to learn but I am having fun with it. The next time I do this I want to make postcard sized prints to send out to my next swap partner.
I haven’t done a Wayback Wednesday post in a while and I miss doing them So I will start again. Here is a photo of who we think is my Great Grandfather, Wilfred Boucher. I have been thinking a lot about him, especially since I visited his grave last year. The man has a lot of secrets. And I kind of want to find out what they are.
About a month ago I stumbled upon an article about “Highly Sensitive People.” The article resonated with me , hard. My entire life I have been told that I am “too sensitive.” I can’t tell you how many times I have heard this. So I have grown up my entire life thinking that something was wrong with me and I have spent a lot of my life trying to fix this “too sensitive” thing to absolutely no avail. I can’t tell you how relieved I was to stumble on this article and see that being “highly sensitive” is actually a personality trait .
- It is OK to be “too sensitive.” In fact it isn’t good or bad. It just is. Those of us who are very sensitive are the poets, artists, spiritual ones, etc. We are highly intuitive and tend to be very creative.
- I notice everything. This is something that the book confirmed about myself (among many other things). I pick up on everything around me. It is both good and bad. The problem I have with this -and that I am working on, is attaching stories to all of the things I pick up on. I am learning to let go of the story line and just let things unfold without my brain giving its input. For example, I might sense something is wrong – like someone around me is giving off a nervous energy. My initial reaction to this weird nervous energy might be to assume this has to do with me in some way (they don’t like me, they are annoyed with me, etc). I am learning to put space between the feeling and the thought.
- Sometimes weird things happen to me. This is actually common for Highly Sensitive People – to experience weird things.
- I am sensitive to the energy of places. Here is an interesting story regarding that.
- As I mentioned above, I am sensitive to the energy of people. When I am sitting on the Reference Desk at the library I can literally feel the bad mood of a person, or even a family, while they are in the area. Sometimes it is just a chaotic energy that I feel. Sometimes it is a very calming energy. Sometimes, if it is a draining, chaotic kind of energy, I am completely exhausted by the end of the day. I need to have some time to myself to recharge.
- I feel ALL OF THE FEELINGS. Again, this can be really, really great, and really, really awful. There is rarely an in- between state. I cherish those rare occasions when I feel that state in-between THIS IS FUCKING AWESOME and this. fucking. sucks. Though those THIS IS FUCKING AWESOME feelings are pretty fucking awesome.
I highly recommend this book if you are sensitive as well, or if any of this resonates with you. The website is really good too. It helped me to see that I am not a weirdo, that this is normal and there are lots of people like me out there.
As you set out on the way to Ithaca
hope that the road is a long one,
filled with adventures, filled with understanding.
-C.P. Cavafy. Ithaca.
Today I am going to be brave and post a poem I wrote a couple of years ago. It, seriously, was inspired by an episode of Mad Men. Go figure.
I wish I’d known that was the last time.
I would have worn my red dress
And painted my nails
And worn lipstick.
Instead I was wearing my flannel nightshirt
And my hair wasn’t just right.
Was hidden in the
Tea leaves left behind.
Signs of the future
Camouflaged in the past.
Twisted around in the present.
Around me everywhere.
I was just too blind to see.
I wish I’d know that was the last time.